


One Way to Fall

by phantisma



Series: Angels and Demons [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-16
Updated: 2006-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um...yeah, so Dean is drunk...and there's sex...and um, the despoiling of an...ummmm....So, yeah...Dean is drunk and there is sex and wings and...um....</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Way to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This was written well before the advent of the Lucifer & Michael myth arch happened...just to show that either I'm prophetic...or I have a particular...um...issue...

Dean is fairly well aware of the fact that he is drunk before he stumbles out of the roadhouse, but that fact is amplified as the night air hits him. It’s hot and damp and smells like rain…well, rain and stale beer and vomit if he thinks about it…and he feels a whole lot more drunk than he thought he was.

It’s a good thing the motel is across the street…even if it is a sucktacular shit hole as Sam had declared earlier. Sam. Dean groans and decides he really needs to piss, and the room was way to far way. They’d fought all afternoon and when Dean had pulled off the road, and said he was gonna go have a drink, Sam had taken off, saying he was going for a run or some shit. That had been hours ago…he thinks. It better have been hours, cause he’s lost count of how many shots and had way too many beers and is generally fucked to all hell.

He leans against the side wall of the office and unzips his fly, easing his cock out and peeing against the building with a groan like it was sex or something…and fuck if that wasn’t funny.

But, now he’s worried, cause Sam didn’t come looking for him, so he’s either sulking in the room or out somewhere in the dark and Dean’s in no condition to go looking for him…or deal with his smug attitude…so he pees. At least this is something he can handle right now.

He hears something as he’s finishing, half turns as a shadow moves between him and the nearest light. “Sammy?”

He’s tall, tall enough to be Sam and as he moves closer Dean squints his eyes. He has tousled hair and a long nose, like Sam, but he isn’t Sam. “The hell?”

The stranger smiles and damn if he isn’t pretty like that. Dean tries to tuck himself back into his jeans, but his cock seems to have other ideas. “Down boy.”

The stranger chuckles. “It must like what it sees.”

“No offense, dude. You just look like someone it likes.”

“I see.” He comes a little closer and Dean squints more.

“You look a lot like him.”

“I’m Michael.” The stranger holds out his hand and after wiping his hand on his jeans, Dean takes it.

“Dean.”

“You’re a little drunk, Dean.”

Dean smirked, the smirk that almost never failed to get him into…or out of…trouble. “Yes I am. You aren’t.”

“I’ve never tasted alcohol, actually.”

“No.” Dean laughs, then realizes the man is serious. “Not e’en a beer?”

“No.” The man is closer now, nearly into Dean’s space and Dean’s cock is still hanging out of his pants, semi-hard.

“Why not?”

The man’s face moved so that the light hit it and Dean fell back against the wall, his mouth open as he stared…”Beautiful,” Dean whispered.

“Not allowed,” the man said softly, his hand rising to caress Dean’s face, dragging over the stubble.

Dean swallowed and tried to back away, but the wall didn’t seem to move with him and all he managed to do was turn more fully into the stranger’s touch. “There’s a lot of things I’m not allowed to do.” Michael said, his caress venturing down to Dean’s neck as he leaned closer. His breath smelled of peppermint and when his lips brushed Dean’s they left behind a tingle that shot straight through him and into his cock.

“You religious or something?” Dean manages to mumble, shaking his head to try to clear it.

“Or something.” Michael’s hand is on Dean’s chest, pressing into the wall. “I’ve been looking for someone…someone who could set me free. Someone worth falling for.”

Dean’s eyes pop open and he puts his hand up, pressing back against Michael’s chest. “Trust me…I’m not him.” He pushes harder, but Michael presses in. Dude is strong. “No falling, trust me on this.”

Michael chuckles and the sound is deep, rumbling. “You misunderstand me, Dean. There are many ways to fall.” His kiss is like his voice, deep, demanding and it burns into Dean like alcohol. Dean melts under his touch, the only thing in his body able to stand on its own is his cock, which is brushing against the man’s robes. Robes. How had Dean not noticed robes?

But, there was a hand on his cock now, stroking him slowly and Dean moans into Michael’s mouth. “You taste so good.” Dean murmurs as he tastes cookies and gingerbread and peppermint all at once, bringing his hands up to pull Michael closer. “Damn.”

“Perhaps.” Michael murmurs back and Dean doesn’t understand, but doesn’t argue, just thrusts into Michael’s hand.

“Got a room.” Dean finally mutters, pulling away forcibly, and gesturing, all thought of his younger brother possibly sulking in there gone. He leads the way across the parking lot, cock swinging in front of him. He fumbles a little with the key, then lurches through the door before reaching back to grab the front of Michael’s robes and pull him inside. “Fuck you’re a beautiful thing. Want to taste more of you.”

With that Dean drops to his knees and lift the robes. Robes. Something about that rings bells of warning in his head, but damn he’s horny and fuck he’s drunk…and there’s a beautiful man who looks like Sam just standing there waiting for him.

Michael’s cock stands up at him, beautiful…perfect…hard as a rock. Dean looks up at him, into those dark eyes and opens his mouth, taking as much of his length into him as he can before closing his mouth and slowly sucking his way up. Dean slides him in and out until he begins to buck his hips, then looks up, slowly sucking his way off. “Dude…you’re glowing.”

Michael smiles, and Dean blinks. He really is. “Glowing.” Dean says again and Michael nods. Just fucking nods.

“It’s okay. Get undressed.” Dean doesn’t ever need to hear that twice, and stands, kicking off his shoes and pulling his jeans and boxers off in one motion. Michael is naked himself when Dean turns back and damn….damn….and fuck. The boy is maybe the prettiest thing he’s ever seen…even prettier than Sammy.

Dean’s eyes flit away from pretty naked man and looked around at the thought, to make sure Sam isn’t sleeping on the bed or something, but they are alone. He feels a hand on his arm and he suddenly feels like there was too much air between their skins, even if Michael’s skin was glowing. He pulls them together, yanking on the back of Michael’s neck to pull him down for a kiss, deep and wet, tongues tangling as hands grope and they twist around until Dean’s back is against the door.

Almost effortlessly, Michael lifts him and Dean instinctively moves his legs around his waist, tilts his hips so that Michael’s perfect cock is poised to enter him. “Fuck me.” Dean growls when Michael takes too long looking down where their bodies are touching…and he presses down as Michael moves forward. Dean hisses as the familiar pain burns and Michael presses all the harder as Dean clutches his shoulders. His first strokes are slow, tentative, then he’s found a rhythm and Dean is sliding against the door, cursing as every stroke scrapes like fire across his prostrate and Michael’s lips are attached to his shoulder, sucking a deep bruise along the bone that he’ll have to explain to Sam later.

“Fuck. Yes.” Dean gasps as Michael adjusts his angle just enough the he fills Dean even more and Dean’s hands drop between them to tug his cock in time with the thrusts pushing him into the fake wood of the door. “Damn. Harder.”

Dean’s eyes roll closed as he pushes back against Michael, rapidly approaching orgasm. Michael’s hands are cupping his ass, pressing into his flesh and then Dean feels something else, something brushing his shoulders, soft…like…feathers. Dean’s head falls forward and as his eyes flutter, Michael leans in to kiss him. “Keep your eyes closed, Dean. You look so beautiful. Keep them closed.”

And Michael kisses his eyes, licks his cheekbones all the while fucking him harder and deeper than even Sam ever has. Dean’s head falls back against the door, until Michael steps backwards, taking all of Dean’s weight onto his frame, and damn but Dean could swear there were feathers…hands of feathers on his back and it was hot and weird and damn, his cock hurt. Dean squints his eyes open to see Michael biting his lip, his skin an odd glow of golden-white.

Dean raises his hands to Michael’s face and pulls him closer to kiss, groaning as his cock brushes Michael’s stomach. “Gotta come. Make me come Mikey.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open as something envelopes him, them…something warm and cocooning and soft and…wings. His breath hitches as they stroke his back, his ass. Wings. Fucking wings. His mind stops on the thought. Glowing skin and wings.

Then, Michael is turning them, dropping Dean onto the bed, changing everything as those wings extend up and out, hovering above them as Michael plunges himself into Dean and pulls a dry hand up Dean’s cock.

Dean comes first, his cock sputtering out onto his stomach, staring up at those gorgeous, black feathered wings that are just impossible, unbelievable…and he must just be drunker than he thinks…He closes his eyes and breathes as the stranger, fucking strangers, moans and thrusts in, and Dean can feel his come inside of him and its only then that he realizes they hadn’t bothered with a condom and fuck….fuck….

Michael collapses forward, and he’s not as heavy as a man his size should be. “Dude…you’ve got wings.” Dean finally mutters when he finds his voice.

Michael pushes himself up off the bed, off and out of Dean and smiles…and fuck he’s still the prettiest thing Dean has ever seen. “Not for long.” Michael replies with a half smile…then his face hitches, the smile becomes a grimace and his body tenses. “Sorry, this will not be pretty.”

Dean watches in horror as Michael’s shoulders roll, then hunch forward. There’s blood, and clumps of flesh falling…feathers…they’re everywhere…Dean sneezes as they fill the air and he’s helpless, sitting there on the bed watching Michael fucking molt in front of him. “What…what…”

Michael holds up his hands, pain evident on his face. “Its okay Dean. It will be over quickly.” He doubles over and Dean can see bony structure sticking out of his back, bloody and stumpy, where minutes before beautiful wings had sprouted.

“You…fuck…I’m drunk.” Dean can almost convince himself he is dreaming. “I’m hallucinating. Someone fucking roofied me.”

Michael smiles and damn if Dean isn’t starting to get hard all over again. “No Dean, you aren’t hallucinating.” He takes a deep breath and slowly rises to standing. “You are beautiful.” Michael’s hand on his face makes Dean look around them again.

“You…you’re an angel.” Dean’s voice squeaks as he says it and Michael shakes his head.

“Not anymore, thanks to you.” He leans down and kisses Dean, deep and hot.

“No such thing as angels.” Dean says, his hands wrapping in Michael’s hair.

“You believe in demons and ghosts, but not angels, Dean?”

Dean pulled back and looked up at him. “How do—you—“

Michael’s smile was positively wicked. “I’ve been watching you, Dean. I told you, I’ve been looking for someone. I wanted to fall…wanted to be mortal. There are many ways to fall.” His hand stroked over Dean’s cheek. “But you are so fucking beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.” He kissed him again and stood up. “And it’s better for you to be drunk…it won’t hurt as much.”

“Wha’ won’ hur’?” Dean asks, his words slurring as if all the alcohol in his body had gone to his tongue. But even as he says it, he can feel something isn’t right. Something hurt. A lot. He looks up at Michael, who is rummaging through Sam’s bags.

“Just relax. It isn’t permanent. It’s…let’s call it a punishment. You know, for soiling a perfect being.” He holds up a pair of Sam’s pants and a t-shirt. “Do you think your brother will mind?”

Dean’s shaking his head, he thinks, but it feels like his entire body is shaking. “Wha’ the fuck, dude?”

It’s like his back is splitting in half, like someone’s trying to wear him, pushing arms through his shoulder blades. Dean staggers to his feet. His fingers come away bloody when he wrangles an arm up around his back. Michael returns to stand in front of him. “Relax, Dean and let them come. It will only hurt more if you fight.”

“What did you do to me?” Dean’s yelling now, pushing past Michael to the bathroom, turning to try to see his back in the mirror. “What the fuck did you do!”

Dean whirls around to the toilet, suddenly overcome with nausea. He vomits violently, shaking in pain as wings unfurl from his back, standing nearly straight back and he can fucking feel them and his back is bleeding, ripped to shreds, and his stomach explodes again and again.

When he finally stops, Michael is waiting in the door way, looking even more like Sam in Sam’s clothes. He comes to squat beside Dean, caressing his sweaty face. “Take a shower, once you figure out how to get them closed, it will help your back feel better. Take something for the pain. It will pass.” His kiss is hot on Dean’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.” Dean responds, hugging the cool porcelain of the toilet. “How long?”

Michael shakes his head. “I really don’t know. I’ve never done this before Dean.”

“Why me? Why do this to me?”

Michael smiles and strokes a finger over Dean’s forehead. “You really are beautiful…and I’ve seen you…your desperation…It would have been enough to have anyone…but you…the stained warrior…who fights evil, yet screws his baby brother…the epitome of good, the essence of evil, all wrapped up in this pretty package…what better way to fall?”

Dean retches again, feels Michael’s hand on his shoulder. “You need to relax, or they’ll stay like that. I mean it about the shower. I have to go before your brother comes back. Are you going to be okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer, just flushes the toilet and tries to stand, forcing the muscles in his back to relax. The wings relax a little as well, dropping down so that they brush the walls of the small room. They hurt, all the way down to the fucking tips. He turns carefully and turns on the water in the shower, because what the fuck else is he going to do? He’s fucking drunk and fucked and he’s got wings. Fucking wings.


End file.
